


Hello, Kazuraba Kouta

by borrowedphrases



Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:13:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/pseuds/borrowedphrases
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kouta can't remember how his own bed is supposed to feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hello, Kazuraba Kouta

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gottis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottis/gifts).



Kouta's blanket feels strange under his hands, like the callouses he's built up have been stripped away, leaving soft new skin in their wake. It's itchy, and rough, and nothing like it felt like this morning. Or was that yesterday morning? He can't tell how much time has passed since he last slept in his own bed.

It feels nothing like the bed that was prepared for him at Yggdrasill either. He can remember exactly what that bedding felt like. The too-soft mattress, the texture of the leaf pattern of the comforter. He can remember how that comforter felt bunched up in his fists, how long it took to dampen from cold sweat and spit. He can still feel the burn of it against his tongue.

_Fingers brush along the back of his neck, brush at the battle bruise on his cheek. A wide hand glides through his hair, grips, shoves his face into the blankets until he can't breathe._

Kouta's shaking, his body more alert, more chilled, than after he fought the White Rider. That somehow felt more real than this. There's a fog hanging over him, and a ringing in his ears, and every other breath is a sharper inhale, like he can't remember how to breathe without gasping.

He shifts, lifts one of his thighs so he can sit back, make himself comfortable. He winces, a pathetic little sound escaping his lips. Sharp pain hits his hips, echoes up into his belly, makes a giant knot form in his core.

_Wide hands on his hips, pressing, gripping. Leaving purple clouds in funny little shapes. Dull nails playing connect the dots. Breath against his ear, hot and unfamiliar._

Kouta knows he should get up, go take a shower. He can't remember the last time he showered, not when he can't remember how many days it's been. He's ran, he's fought, he's sweat, he's rolled in fountain water and writhed in the dead leaves of Helheim. He's watched a friend die and he's cried.

He's crying now, slow tears cutting trails down his cheeks with each blink. His face feels raw from how much salt has already seasoned them. From bruises and scrapes and the dull burn of fabric as his cheek was pressed and dragged against it.

_"Hello, little hero."_

Kouta bites the inside of his cheek to keep from sobbing. He's better than that, he's stronger than that. He tells himself that he is, and so he is. That's how it works, isn't it? That's how it's supposed to work.

He can't stop shaking, and it's getting hard to see through the tears. He pushes through the pain, not to get up, to go take the shower he so desperately needs. He knows if he does that he'll see the proof of what happened like a road map on his skin.

He pushes his body just far enough to lie down on his side, face to the wall, and tuck one knee up close to his chest.


End file.
